I knew if Will were in my position, he wouldn’t face these issues. The board wouldn’t question his abilities if he had produced the same results that I had. He wouldn’t need to enter into a fake relationship to prove to a bunch of old men that he wasn’t cold and uncaring. The double standard was infuriating.
“It isn’t all bad… I’ll probably see you more now,” Alexandra insisted. I raised an eyebrow in question. “You’ll have to go to more of the networking events. Maverick and I attend most of those, too.”
I couldn’t help but groan. “You know I hate those things. Come to think of it… so do you! So, why do you even go?”
She took another sip of her wine, “Maverick and I have an agreement. He comes to my things and I go to his.”
“Rome is going to hate Maverick.” I chuckled just thinking of the two.
Where Rome was playful, Maverick was serious. Where Rome was quick to a smile and a joke, Maverick had smiled twice in the entirety I had known him. I wasn’t positive if he had ever made a joke. The two were like oil and water.
Alexandra laughed along with me, “Maverick doesn’t like most people here, so I wouldn’t be surprised if the feeling is mutual. At least something will be entertaining at these parties. That charity gala at the museum downtown is this weekend; you should come. Get your sea legs for this whole fake relationship thing you're getting yourself into.”
I sighed, knowing it was right for me to go. I had been invited to hundreds of these events, but only attended a handful. The press would eat it up if I made an appearance. Having Alexandra there would only increase the attention, which in this case would be beneficial.
It was a strange transition. For so long, I had avoided being caught by the press. Now, I was orchestrating the run-ins.
“I’ll come, but only if you’re there,” I eventually relented.
Alexandra squealed, “This is going to be so fun! We can get ready together, drive together, and walk the carpet together. Maverick would love to see you. He’ll probably try to get a scoop on how your business is doing… but excited to see you nonetheless. I’ve also been meaning to chat with you about some of my investments for my new business. This is going to be so fun…”
Alexandra continued to make plans for the night, but I started mentally making my own. I would need to find a dress, research the attendees so I knew who would be best to network with, and prepare Rome. He would need a suit, maybe even a haircut—definitely new shoes. I had a feeling I wouldn’t be able to convince him to leave his guns behind for the sake of fashion, so a tailored suit that took that into account would be beneficial.
I may not like the man, but I knew Rome would be delicious in prada.
Chapter Seven
ROME
“Mama!” I yelled into the house as I made my way through the front door. She lived in the same house that she and my step-dad had bought over twenty years ago. It bore the wear of years of raising six children. There were scuffs on the baseboards, marks on the wall with all of our heights, and the same photo of my late father in his dress blues that had been hung in the living room the day we moved here.
I was only eight years old when I moved here with my mom. I had been terrified that my mom’s new relationship would overshadow my dad. My step-dad, Mateo, could sense those fears and made sure to hang the photo of my dad in the living room so it was the first thing I saw when I walked through the front door.
It had been thirty years since my dad had passed. I didn’t remember him. He’d had a heart attack when I was only four years old. While I had no memories, his life impacted my own every day. I joined the Army to follow in his footsteps, supported my mom and family the way he would have, and refused to let his memory get lost in the day-to-day motions.
I could admit I had been hung up on the memory of my dad for years. When my mom started dating, to say I was a menace would be an understatement. Despite it all, Mateo stuck around. My mom understood my reluctance to accept Mateo and never pushed a relationship between the two of us. It took years, but we did become close, forming a relationship that resembled that of father and son.
“Love you, Dad,” I whispered as I passed the photo. “Mom!” I called again.
“Rome,” she exclaimed as she rounded the corner, and as usual, took my face in her hands and squished my cheeks. “You’re withering away. Is your boss not feeding you? She needs to feed you. Come!”
My mom hadn’t aged in years; her tan skin remained free of wrinkles, except the small ones around her eyes from smiling. She had one streak of grey hair that marred her black mane.
She pulled me into the kitchen where she was cooking our usual family dinner. Lucia Romano Cipriani didn’t believe in takeout. It was a fact everyone knew.
Mateo was a chef by trade and taught my mom all he knew over time, and she surpassed him in skill years ago. The twostarted a restaurant a couple of years after they were married. My mom ran the business side of the restaurant while Mateo was the head chef. Despite their busy schedule, my mom insisted that we have a home-cooked family dinner every night.
It wasn’t always perfect. Some dinners merely consisted of generic cereal and pancakes. While other dinners were entire spreads with multiple courses, and ended with us all well-fed. What mattered, though, was the company—that my sisters and I were all sitting around the dinner table together.
Many dinners growing up ended with one of my sisters running away, crying. The teenage years were rough on everyone. But without fail, we were all at the table the next night. That’s what family was about. No matter what was happening between us personally, when it came down to it, we showed up for each other… without question.
“Mom, leave the poor boy alone,” my sister, Bella, complained from her spot at the dining table. She was rolling pasta dough in front of her, presumably for ravioli, based on the ingredients spread around the kitchen and the connected dining room.
“I’m eight years older than you, don’t call me a boy,” I argued as I took the seat next to her and began helping her with the dough. She was the oldest of the Romano sisters, Mateo’s daughters, but she was still my baby sister. A fact that drove her crazy many days.
Bella had long black hair and dark brown eyes that were almost black, much like my own. She was in the process of taking over her dad’s restaurant and spent most of her time either in the restaurant kitchen, or in the kitchen here. Cooking was her calling, and she was incredible at it.
Bella glanced at our mom, who was busying herself on the stove, before turning her gaze to me. “I hid the paper from Mom, but is it true? Are you dating your boss?”
